The Clock That Held Midnight — At the top of festival hill, Riona tucked her wings close and held the round clock against her chest. Read the full story →
At the top of festival hill, Riona tucked her wings close and held the round clock against her chest. She wanted to lift it when the first midnight chime rang, just as the wind smelled of paper streamers and sweet smoke. The clock looked fancy to everyone else, but Riona knew the truth: inside its ticking was the last soft laugh of her old herd-bell, saved in a tiny silver spring.
The crowd below counted in a hush. Ten, nine, eight. Riona’s knees prickled. She had never stood where all the lanterns could find her face. “Just high enough,” she whispered, and raised the clock. Fireworks opened above her like giant flowers, thump-whisper, thump-whisper, spilling colored light over her horn and party hat.
Then the clock did not bong. It giggled. A small bell-laugh twirled through the sky, and every firework answered with its own bright chuckle. Riona smiled for the first chime, not because it was loud, but because it was hers. If you follow the clock’s hands, you might hear that tiny laugh still holding midnight.
